Starlings

The cold earth at dawn
     darkness still
and a restless mind
     Motion lives in space
and in our thoughts
     and poetry must resist
the pull of intelligence

Yesterday in the car park
     a singing tree
a young leafless sapling
     to be precise
and a horde of fledged starlings
     thirty or more
perched on the branches
     singing in unison
a real piece of choral music
     that startled me
with the beauty
     of the melody

As I closed the car door
     a gust of wind caught it
and so it slammed shut
     but the birds did not flinch
nor did they miss a note

A magical singing tree
     such as you might read of
in The Arabian Nights
     each bird
a particle of a single song
    each bird dressed
for the occasion
    looking straight ahead
facing symmetrically south :
     and I admired the complexity
of their harmonies
     their resolution
admired the iridescent
     metallic sheen
of their plumage
     and above all
their all-for-one
     one-for-all attitude

Song lives in space
     and is orchestrated in the mind
At night a canopy embroidered
     with sparkling beads
by day the baton
                         is never still

John Lyons